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Non-Canon Boogaloo
This is going to be things Andrew does that are mostly terrible and should probably be ignored for sanity's sake. The Golden Scourge "The cloaks and the armor- they're falling back." Two hooded figures stood in the empty temple, one with an ornate golden mask peeking out from the robe, the other with a brace of pistols weighing him down. "So that's it, then." The masked one replied. "Just as soon as they arrive, they leave us." "Most of the people have been evacuated. The ones that are left are stubborn bastards, like you." A grunt of amusement echoed coldly through the empty halls. "Where are the demons?" "They'll be at the gates within the hour. You won't survive if you stay." "I won't survive if I leave, boy." The masked face looked expressionlessly at the gunman. "Vanius, the Golden Nation. Largest city anyone's ever seen before with all these refugees. The people still need someone, but this city needs me." "But why throw your life away like this? We'll rebuild, the new city will hold! It'll move! Hells, it'll grow!" "Do you know why I've been sitting in this temple, rather than seeing to the city's defenses?" Only silence came from the gunman, who relaxed his stance at this. "Urbanus is the god of the city. His true servants, like me, are chosen to defend with the city's very spirit. But I've been waiting for the city's people to be safe." "You don't mean-" "The zeitgeists. Three guardians of the city, I've been sealing away, to let the evacuation go. You should flee too, before the demons hit the gates." The gunslinger pauses, looking into the mask. After an agonizing moment, he takes a single towards the door, glancing back. "What'll happen when the zeitgeists are freed?" "We'll show them a hell worse than their home." The masked man grunted, reaching into his hood. "The rest of the priests escaped, they'll see to the reconstruction of Vanius. What they won't see to is the appointment of a new Scourge." "I'm not a priest-" "You aren't a coward, boy. Makes you a damn sight better than most others." The mask falls away, revealing an ancient face, ravaged by time. "That's because the same man's been doing the job longer than they've been alive." A gloved hand holds the mask out to the gunslinger. "The Golden Scourge exists to cleanse the city, to do what others will not. Protect the necromancers of the Evening Glory, punish the criminals hiding behind Cuthbert. Rebuild the forges of Astaroth, and calm the city's spirits. You will become one with the new city, in exchange for Urbanus's personal blessings. Do you accept this responsibility?" The gunslinger steps towards the old man, gently taking the mask. "I-I do." "Put that on in the new temple, as soon as it goes up. Everything will be clear." With a nod, the younger man stashes the mask in his backpack, once more making for the door. "Be safe." "Not a chance." "How the hell did the old man deal with this?" A small shack on the outskirts of New Dalven held a pair of occupants, the speaker, who was idly working on a revolver, and a hunched man on the far side, toiling at the forge. "He always told me that fey and luddites were the biggest pain in the ass to deal with." A gravelly voice spat through yellowed teeth revealed a binder to the trained eye, with the twin expertise of Naberius and Astaroth. The latter spirit came with the unfortunate sign of emitting a stench that almost overpowered the smell of burning coal. Almost. Holding the revolver up to his green eyes, the gunslinger cycled chambers, noticing a crack. With a muttered expletive, he set about disassembling the piece again. "I'm supposed to promote the advancement of the city while protecting them. How the hell is that supposed to work?" "Honestly? It doesn't. The city took a hell of a beating on the ground, but it's nothing like having these neighbors. "I mean, I know when we got the influx of refugees, there was a nymph or some shit that was pissed we were trying to build over a sacred grove or something. These crazies, though, I don't think I can deal with. They're trying to destroy a city for a couple damn trees." "That's just it. Fey can't live in a city, so they push ever outward with the forest. It's actually your job to make sure they stay there." "And the humans that joined them?" "Suggest a change of scenery." The protest extended tirelessly through the night. Killoren and druids shouted on about the evils of the city, falling on deaf ears. Before long, a gold-trimmed cloak emerged from the shadows, approaching the wildkin. "Ah, Vanian brother!" A druid stepped forward, trying to make a show of the newcomer. "Have you come to join our struggle?" "I come to offer a warning." The cloaked figure said. "Custos belongs to the Golden Nation. Return to your forests in Reojal or your farms of Bronwyr." The druid flinches back, exasperated. "I am a Vanian citizen! I have every right to be here!" "That ended when you called for the city's destruction." A golden mask glinted in the torchlight under the hood. "This is your last chance." The next events happened in an instant, but everything was clear to the onlookers. The druid, in anger, grew into a bear and swiped at the cloaked figure. The figure, anticipating this, drew two revolvers and fired, having no chance to miss the expanding form before him. As the pile of bleeding fur hit the ground, it shifted right back into a man, dead before impact. Holstering his pistols, the masked man dropped a note on the offending druid before vanishing into the air. Though stained with blood by the time it was retrieved, the message was clear as day: The Scourge will cleanse the city, mending it from the pain it suffered on the ground. You are intruding on his home. Take care he does not do the same to you. The Golden Scourge, Part II Amber liquid poured from a rough-hewn, opaque glass bottle. With a grunt, the gunslinger took his seat, legs dangling off the edge of Custos. “So what are we doing out here? I’d almost grown accustomed to the smell of the forge there.” The flow ceased as the bottle was tilted back, with a glass offered forward to the gunslinger. “Getting perspective.” The companion binder was hardly recognizable from his previous appearance, with the wings absent, voice clear and firm, and an aberration about him that was difficult to place. Closer inspection revealed his thumbs were on the wrong side for each hand, and his eyes had glassed over, quite literally. They appeared as if one was looking into a window, dark beyond, but the barrier visible. The gunslinger accepted the glass, raising it with a smirk. “Alright, I’ll bite. You did lure me out here with the free whiskey.” He looked out over the expansive terrain, with astonishingly little cloudcover today. “You picked a good day for whatever, it seems.” “We did.” The binder intoned, taking his own seat. “Vanius has quite the paradox to it. Other than us, there are few who have the means to appreciate what we’re seeing.” “How do you mean?” Taking a sip, the gunslinger winced, trying not to think of exactly how strong the drink was. “There’s plenty of rich, and plenty of poor. More of the latter now that we’ve taken skyward.” “Precisely.” Came the ambiguous response as the binder took a more composed drink. “The poor see what they once had, seeing less work for more in return previously. The rich ignore the sight, focusing on what they still have to distract from their loss. But us? We can sit back and watch the world burn. To me, it’s peaceful. Liberating, even. We’ve moved on. The two of us still being part of Vanius means we’ve won.” The gunslinger looked up to his companion, raising an eyebrow. “Vanius did burn, though. Hell, this is where I found you admiring the smouldering ruins as we left.” A longer drink for the binder, letting him collect his thoughts. “Homes burned. Temples, businesses, workshops, everything. Mansions became fortresses for the trapped unfortunate. But Vanius is not those things. Vanius is the will of the people, the reminder that not everyone will succeed, but those who do have the potential to do so spectacularly. Desharis and Urbanus both still defend us. The city’s going to need a hero soon, but that’s not something my profession’s good at.” “You lost me somewhere in there, unless you started talking to one of the voices in your head again. What are you going to be adding to my workload?” The gunslinger set his glass down, looking worriedly at his friend. The binder raised his glass in a toast, smiling wickedly in return. “Desharis was the first fey of the city. There’s three fey of Vanius we unleashed on the demons, and destroying them does not remove them forever.” “The zeitgeists.” The gunslinger shook his head, raising his glass back in a sarcastic toast. “I guess it’s good you brought me to watch the world burn.” Fortune “Come on, it’s only one silver for a reading!” Sudi sighed, pausing despite himself. He’d certainly been attracting attention with his new outfit, and strangers already mistook him for a man of wealth, it seemed. After a brief deliberation, the fortune-teller received his silver coin and the kalashtar’s attention. “Yes, yes, come…” The eager man said, seemingly excited about his craft. “Magic tends to muddle things; men and gods twist the outcome to their advantage. I only use the cards, and they divine events with greater certainty.” Sudi snorted, but followed obligingly into the stall he was led to. The table was a bare wooden piece, save for a deck of cards on top of it. With no chairs to sit at, Sudi simply had to stand across to observe. The man stacked and shuffled cards with great purpose, as if trying to generate order from the chaos among them. Finally, he started placing cards down, gesturing to each position in turn. “Your past, yourself, your family, and your future.” He indicated to the main four positions. “The others have a nominal additional fee.” “Of course they do.” Sudi grumbles, looking down at the four cards he had apparently paid for. “So what startling revelation do you have for me, then?” “Well, the past has been predictable. Since the departure, it is almost always marked with abandonment, tragedy…” He trailed off, turning over a card with six swords on it. “A home among warriors?” He gave Sudi an appraising glance before turning back to the table. “Conquered, I wonder, or rescued…” “Yes.” Sudi answers perhaps more ambiguously than the fortune. “Though you had my interest before; and now you have my attention.” The man beamed, turning back to the cards, reaching for the next one. “A man like yourself…” He mutters, flipping over an image of a serpentine figure. “The Devil, in the upright position. Deception is central in your life, in one form or another, and I know better than to pry.” He hurries, quickly shifting his focus to the next card. “Your family, whether by blood or choice…” He turns over a body sagging limply from a noose, before pausing. “The Hanged Man, upright?” He takes a step back from the table, collecting his thoughts. “The Hanged Man symbolizes a choice to make. Up or down, yes or no. You will have a choice to make involving those you keep close, but I can’t help but think it’s a ‘who’ rather than a ‘which’.” Sudi’s face took on a more somber expression, almost feeling his skin crawl. Real or otherwise, this fortune was less than encouraging, even for Flock standards. “I thought the last card was to be the future?” “It is, but the Hanged Man doesn’t appear there without cause.” The fortune-teller asserted, moving back to the last card. “And your future…” A shattered spire, flipped upside-down was pictured. The room was silent for a moment, before a soft laugh could be heard. “Heh. HehehahaHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” The once-calm diviner now was cackling madly, leaving Sudi more than a little put off from the show. It took several moments for the strange man to calm himself, before offering the piece of silver back to the binder. “The Tower, inverted. Something is going to come crashing down soon and hard. You’re going to need this much more than I, friend.” Standing there in disbelief, Sudi had to ask, “What do you mean ‘crashing down’? What are you talking about?” “The Tower represents ruin, the culmination of efforts resulting in failure. Inverting it does not reverse the effect, rather, it intensifies it. You are in for a personal hell, soon, though I cannot say whether that’s literal or figurative. But if you make it through…” “…It’ll be one hell of a story.” Category:Lore Category:Flock